


An Idle Hand

by fractalanatomy



Series: Reach Out and Touch Faith [1]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Gore, Horror, M/M, Masochism, Medical Torture, Other, Sadism, handjob, noncon, one weird motherfucker, the eldritch truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 14:23:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11465412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalanatomy/pseuds/fractalanatomy
Summary: Micolash contemplates a recent experiment and develops a new theory on making contact with the Great Ones, entirely by accident. (Or: Micolash jacks off and sees God.)





	An Idle Hand

The School of Mensis never slept, and neither, supposedly, did Micolash. This was of course a foolish rumour, as the head of the institution was only human, but he did like to keep up appearances and schedule his ghastly experiments at all hours to make sure his mortality was always in question. It also helped to normalize his bizarre behaviour-- for example, surely anyone else sprawled across an operating table at four in the morning would be thoroughly questioned, but no one would dare interrupt Micolash in what was surely deep contemplation of the cosmos, or other abstract mental gymnastics. That would be an excellent way for a no-name scholar to end up stripped of his title and tossed into a cell with the local riff-raff, after all...experiments always required subjects, and arcane rituals a supply of body parts.

Laying on his back with his legs dangling over the sides of the metal table, Micolash hummed to himself while recalling the day’s events, twiddling a small phantasmal shell between his fingers-- it was empty, discarded and later rediscovered somewhere deep in the labyrinths, but there remained a layer of ectoplasm on the inside, and the shell with its gentle white glow kept his eyes and fingers busy while his mind replayed his latest experiment. 

The air in the room still carried a salty note despite the procedure having ended at least an hour ago, by now. Salt and blood and metal mingled to leave trace scents of what gruesome acts had transpired here in the search for immortality, invoking the cursed fishing hamlet where a Great One had once lost her child, exactly the tactile memory Micolash had been looking to revive. Water, and particularly the ocean, seemed an augur of the eldritch truth, and a very promising lead to that which Mensis collectively sought. No idea could afford to go unheard, in his opinion, and no hypothesis untested, regardless of moral grey area...the ascension of the human race was at stake!

The operating theatre had seen many unfortunate souls in its time, and tonight a rather handsome young lad had joined the ranks, a red-headed Yharnamite who had no doubt been in the wrong place at the wrong time and found himself stuffed into a burlap sack as a result. His nails were cracked and fingers rubbed raw and bloody, which Micolash had noticed while his assistants were strapping the subject’s arms down, perhaps from trying to dig his way out from whatever stinking cell had held him-- foolish but understandable, the scholar supposed. Despite the dirt and bruises the young man had a sharp and handsome face, bright eyes wide and panicked for the entire audience to see, and it was perhaps a shame to meddle with such a beautiful creature-- regardless, his time had come, the hour of his celestial rebirth...or maybe his undoing, depending on how far off the mark Micolash was this time. 

Seeing such a prime specimen subdued, helpless before him and terrified beyond measure, gave the dark man a jolt of pleasure straight through his core, and he ignored the heat beneath his trousers while smiling apologetically from behind the bars of his Mensis cage, gently using the back of his hand to brush his subject’s forehead clear of any stray hair. Surely he had given a few hollow words of reassurance before continuing, a few instructions to his assistants as well, but all Micolash could remember was the shrill screams that followed as a drill was secured and began to slowly bore its way through layers of skin and skull, exposing bright pink brain matter to the open air through two small holes. Blood and cerebral fluid wept freely from the open wounds like tears, mingling to stain the hands of the scholars who fumbled with a funnel and hose, trying to position it properly into one of the openings they had made. Still the subject twitched and jerked in his bonds to make things difficult but there was no escape, no reprieve from the madness, and within seconds a pitcher of water was being poured into the receptacle-- murky and white with salt, fresh from the sea-- every scholar waiting with bated breath for the enlightenment that was sure to follow.

There was very little of anything as the young man’s head was flushed clean with life-giving seawater: a bit of foam bubbled from his mouth as his eyes unfocused, all movements ceasing at once, but he breathed on, clearly still alive though perhaps no longer inhabiting his own body. All scholars present exchanged curious looks while Micolash ran his hands over the young man’s naked body, not just for his own delight but to try and prompt a response, however the subject lay as still as a discarded doll, eyes glassy and dark. Had he been set free from mortal limitations, his brain finally given the correct medium in which to grow eyes and see into the cosmos? Or was he now stuck in his own personal hell, unable to escape the confines of his mind and unresponsive body? Either outcome was fascinating, Micolash considered with a grin.

Given orders to patch up the young man’s head and keep him under observation, cracking open his skull to search for eyes within a day or two, the night’s experiment was drawn to a close, and the head of Mensis took some time to consider this from every angle while his scholars cleaned the scene and departed for their dearly-missed beds. He had sat and laid upon and draped himself over every piece of furniture in the room while contemplating what had transpired, however his thoughts vacillated wildly between the nature of the universe, water as a link to the Great Ones, and exactly how badly he had wanted to further explore that young man’s body, the latter becoming more and more interesting the longer he considered it. Pained screams still echoed in his mind, and he found himself assigning them as the soundtrack to a new mental scene, one where he was overseeing the subject being brutalized by a few choice scholars and a snatcher or two, once-pretty face weeping with terror and begging for mercy.

Well, _that_ was titillating. 

No longer lost in the depths of his fantasy, Micolash recognized a needy ache between his legs and sat up for a moment to examine the bulge in his trousers, slipping a hand down past his belt. A strange cold tingle greeted his arousal instead of a warm touch and his hand jerked back reflexively, mind reeling-- ah, the phantasmal shell, of course! While busily fidgeting with the artefact, his fingers had picked up traces of the glowing arcane ichor that still lined the inside, something he had barely noticed while pondering away the night. A sliver of panic stabbed at his heart, wondering what effect arcane residue would have upon his most sensitive anatomy, but the seconds ticked by and nothing in particular seemed to be happening, at least, nothing _bad_ \-- and why should it? One used such materials to imbue a weapon with arcane power, to make it stronger, more like the Great Ones in their element...

Perhaps...perhaps there was room to entertain previously unconsidered thoughts. The Great Ones themselves seemed concerned with the propagation of their kind and intermingling with the human race on a carnal level, perhaps emulating their methods might prove enlightening? In fact, the scholar considered, it would be a shame to ignore potential experimental avenues due to man-made limitations like _modesty_ , downright foolish, even...

With an unhinged giggle, Micolash dug his fingers back into the discarded shell and scooped out as much of the softly glowing fluid as he could, eyes glittering with wonder. One-handed freeing of his arousal from its confines was simple enough given how often he’d practiced the maneuver, and he slathered the arcane goop all over his eager cock, biting his lip while cascades of new and perplexing sensations washed over him-- first cold, deathly cold as his hand had been moments ago, but the original mild tingle he had felt was increasing with every passing moment, tiny sensory sparks leaping and dancing all over his skin with such growing intensity that it soon became a roaring fire to set his nerves ablaze. It hurt, _gods_ it hurt, but through the pain a wild pleasure reared its head, and Micolash could hardly bring himself to stop, fingers wrapped tightly around his cock and wrist hammering back and forth for all he was worth. His thin lips curled ever so slightly at the edges, his grimace of pain now an expression of sinful joy, eyes clamped shut to block out the world while getting up close and personal with the subject of his newest fantasy.

The young man’s body had been well tenderized in this scene, skin so littered with black bruises and red blood that it was impossible to tell his natural colour. Every touch provoked a sharp wince, and fantasy-Micolash took great joy in this, roughly groping the other man in his most vulnerable places, pinning him against the wall and feeling him squirm in extreme discomfort. Little whimpers and hisses as the subject fought weakly back sent jolts of pleasure down through the scholar’s belly straight to his groin, mirroring the sensations his hand was providing in the physical realm. It was rather vanilla considering how his tastes normally ran, but it was doing the trick this time-- gods, how long had it been since he had last pleasured himself, anyway?

With his head full of naked flesh and the burning cold flames of the arcane lapping between his legs, it was hardly longer than a minute or two before every muscle in his body was tensed, coiled like springs in anticipation of his imminent release. Picturing one of his hands roughly tugging on his victim’s messy red hair while his other forcefully probed two fingers up into the poor lad, bringing forth pained cries that ended on curiously high, keening notes, Micolash braced himself as he could feel that blessed rush of orgasm overtaking his senses and washing his mind’s eye white with pleasure--

\--slick grey skin slapping against shallow water, a sticky sound, bulbous tentacles writhing, swirling, and a great gnashing of many-fanged mouths drooling black into an even blacker void--

\--he cried out in climax, as well as in shock at what he had been shown, cock twitching and glowing an intense white in his tightened grip. Panting, hand shaking, Micolash quickly let go and the glow seemed to fade back to the dim hint of arcane it had been originally, which was admittedly much less worrisome. What was he to make of the eldritch vision that graced his thoughts during his split-second moment of weakness, surely his mind hadn’t conjured that all on its own? Had he somehow made Contact? His laboured breathing soon morphed into uneven barks of laughter at the notion, which echoed ominously around the empty room. He was on to something!

Scrambling to do up his trousers and wipe away the last smears of arcane glow from his hands, Micolash hopped off the operating table and skittered out into the hall, making tracks for his office. There were so many things to consider, so much to be done! Where to go from here? To hell with the hour, there was no time for sleep in moments such as this! Ascension was at hand-- no one could stop him now!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even sorry. (I am sorry for being rusty, though.)


End file.
